


The Flame of Tar Valon

by Aruhu_Baughs



Category: Wheel of Time - Robert Jordan
Genre: Epilogue, Gen, Minor Character Death, Post-Canon Fix-It
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-09
Updated: 2019-09-09
Packaged: 2020-10-13 10:30:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,347
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20581049
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aruhu_Baughs/pseuds/Aruhu_Baughs
Summary: I didn't change anything in the epilogue, but I did delve a little more into what the new weave, which Egwene named the Flame of Tar Valon, actually does. It's the opposite of balefire. If balefire destroys something before that time, shouldn't the Flame of Tar Valon preserve it until after?





	The Flame of Tar Valon

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this shortly after A Memory of Light came out, so it's a bit old. I was dissatisfied with the ending of the Wheel of Time. This is my first fic that I've let other people read. Let me know how to get better.

Logain gasped from the healing Nyneave had just performed on him. He felt dizzy, and...he was himself again. Looking back, he could see how insidious his madness was. There were no voices like there were with others. His madness didn’t make him see monsters or shapes reaching for him through the shadows. His madness was about respect, something that, as a noble, he had been taught should be his and always would be. His madness had made him believe respect could only be achieved through fear.

When he had first started channeling, it had been when someone was in danger. That person was being attacked by a wild boar and was afraid for his life. Logain had stepped in front of it and killed it with his sword. That wasn’t the way to kill a boar, and Logain should have been killed himself. Instead, the tusk that should have penetrated his chest left only a shallow gash. The man he’d saved respected him greatly, and a tenuous connection between fear and respect had been established.

Over the years of channeling, the supposed connection between fear and respect only grew stronger. And then that day, no more than a week back, he had almost left hundreds to be slaughtered in order to get that Sa’angreal that Taim had. Logain thanked the light that it, along with all those crystalized people, had been buried in the earthquake. If he’d gone back and gotten it before Nyneave had healed his madness, there’s no telling what he would have done. Even in the week between the last battle and now, he had exiled almost a dozen people from the black tower for little more than being too familiar. What would he have done if somebody insulted him?

But that didn’t happen. He would have to apologize, certainly, but hopefully no lasting harm had been done. He had been mad, after all.

M’Hael came to himself with a jolt of pain. There was a crushing weight across most of his body. He had been buried alive. He could feel wetness spreading across his arms, chest, and face. He was bleeding from a series of fine cracks in his skin, almost as if he were a stone statue that had been cracked by repeated blows. He had to get out, had to get to one of his followers to be healed.

M’Hael reached for the true power to whisk him away without a gateway. A gateway would be possible, he supposed, but arriving with an avalanche of dirt and stone was undesirable. The true power wouldn’t come, couldn’t be felt. It was as if the great lord didn’t even exist any longer. Feeling desperate, he seized the one power, and nearly passed out from the shock.

A terrible wave of weakness and nausea gripped him. He could still channel, could still feel his ability, but the ability was weakening. He could feel the one power like sun on his cheek, but the more he tried to draw it in, the less he could feel the power. If the power were the sun, it was becoming increasingly covered by clouds, until only the memory remained.

How had this happened? I’m gentled. Gentled! But I could channel just moments ago, and there isn’t anybody around who could gentle me. And then M’Hael remembered: the Sa-angreal he still held in his fist. Demandred had warned M’Hael that it was tuned to Demandred. The only explanation was that Demandred was dead.

M’Hael once again tried using the true power, and once again found it impossible. The great lord was gone, either destroyed or once again locked up. M’Hael was buried alive, bleeding from thousands of small cuts, and slowly being crushed to death by the mass of dirt and stone atop him. This was impossible. He had been promised power, glory, the rule of everybody and everything. He had even used balefire as ordered. It was an unbeatable weapon. Nothing could stand up to it, stand up to him...

And then he remembered. That little dark haired woman, the one pointed out to him as the Amyrlin Seat, the leader of those fool Aes Sedai. He had directed a stream straight at her, fueled with one of the most powerful male Sa’Angreal ever made. And it had done nothing. That woman had caught it in a weave herself, caught it and flung it back with a different fire, a different weapon. What had she used, and how could she counter the effects of balefire itself? His thoughts turned to despair and hopelessness as he bled out, falling unconscious as his small pocket of air turned stale, no longer able to support life.

Egwene wielded the fury and vengeance of the Amyrlin Seat. She drew more of the one power than she ever had before, possibly more than anyone had without the Choedan Kal, and definitely more than she could without danger of stilling herself. Vora’s Sa’Angreal seemed to glow like a beacon as she channeled the flame of Tar Valon at the Sharan Channelers and Mazrim Taim. And then, suddenly, the power was gone, she was gone. There were no lights, no sound, and she couldn’t move.

So this is dying, she thought. This is what happens when you draw too much of the one power. You still yourself, and...she wasn’t stilled. She could still feel the strength of Saidar at the back of her head. At the same time she realized this, she also realized that she couldn’t breathe; something was covering her head, her arms, her entire body. Something gritty, heavy, and damp. Earth? She had been buried alive. What had happened? How had it happened? No, what was important was that she couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe. Trapped, again! No, no, not like this. She remembered her cell when imprisoned by Elaida. Dark, dank, not enough room to move. Often in that cell, she felt as if she couldn’t breathe. And now was worse, so much worse. Almost as bad as when Renna held her captive. Except now she could channel. As unbelievable as it was, she could still channel. As Egwene started to lose consciousness, she channeled, opening up a gateway underneath her, knowing that gravity would pull her through to safety.

Unfortunately, Ewene was thinking about Renna when the gateway was opened. Renna, and her small room in Falma. Falma, which was controlled by the Seanchan.

Falendre was making a routine check of the Damane kennels. She had been offered a new name for taking control of the Sul’Dam and Damane following Anath...no, Semirhage’s...attempt to capture the Dragon Reborn. She had tried to explain that it was nothing she had done or said that allowed the release of her people, nor the Dragon’s acknowledgement of the Empire’s superiority with his gift of horses. But they offered her a new name. She had to reject it, of course. It wasn’t wise to lower the eyes of your superiors, but accepting the name would be the same as saying she was instrumental in the Dragon’s submission. Had she accepted the name, she would most likely be of the low blood now, something she had never wanted. On the heights, the paths are paved with daggers, and she had no desire to cut her feet.

And so she became Der Sul’Dam of a prestigious, and now tactically worthless, area: Falme. Being raised to Der Sul’Dam had been a necessary compromise. If she had insisted on remaining at the same level, her superior would be made Sai Mossiev for having such bad judgement that even the person that was to be raised denied him. Soon after that happened, assassins would find her, her friends, and her family. The same result would have come had she taken a new name, for actions on the order of getting the Dragon himself to submit would be expected of her.

That was impossible.

And so she refused a new name and became Der Sul’dam. She and Falme were both now irrevocably connected with the Dragon Reborn, and so they were together. It was the best that could be hoped for, and she was beginning feel she deserved where she was.

Falendre felt channeling and heard a crash and clatter down the hall. Channeling in the compound wasn’t unexpected, although it was at this hour; but channeling at the end of the hallway was. There were no Sul’dam in this hallway, and all damane were safely collared. One must have gotten loose. Falendre started jogging down the hall. Hopefully she could stop the damane before she hurt herself or somebody else. Most of her damane would become inconsolable if they accidentally hurt another, and she wanted to spare them that pain. And find out how the damane in question had gotten loose.

As she ran down the hallway, she flipped through her papers, seeing which damane might have gotten loose, and what her temperament was. Mishandling of a loose damane could be dangerous, but Falendre knew how to handle even wild damane without too much danger. Still, the information would be worth a few seconds.

Nobody was assigned to this room. It was a place of bad omens. She had heard rumors about this particular room. The two sul’dam that used it didn’t believe in omens, so were unconcerned that the first thing any Seanchan had seen from the window was a rat eating a dead snake. This was such a bad omen that it was obviously exaggerated, but this rumor was still told. Before the man that claimed to have seen this omen died at the last battle, everybody in his platoon, and all his family on this side of the ocean, had died, making his story was more credible than she’d originally assumed. Later, a newly caught damane had dropped a water pitcher on the floor. If the water had been cleaned up right away, no stain would have resulted on the floor. Renna, the sul’dam in charge of said damane, had instead punished the woman, harshly, and the water was left until it dried. The stain remained, shaped like a crescent moon leaking tears. Nobody wanted to be near a room that promised pain and sorrow to the empire. This was also the room where Renna and Seta had been overcome by a captive damani. The same two sul’dam that later disappeared the same night so many seafolk had escaped. The seeker who had found them was never seen from again either, although nobody ever knows where seekers go. The three soldiers that responded to help the sul’dam were killed later that day, sent on suicide missions by Suroth herself. Even Suroth later came to a downfall.

It seems foolish to blame so much on a single room, and even more foolish to stop using it, but the room had not been occupied since the Seanchan reasserted control over Falme. Its history notwithstanding, it still bore the stain. It was filled with bad history, bad omens, and now a disconcerting sound.

Falendre ran to the room and opened the door to a flood of earth. What madness was this? And then she saw the gateway at the ceiling rotate to nothingness. Was this an attack? Had one of the marath damane known as Aes Sedai tried to bury the damane kennels? But no, it had only happened in this one unoccupied room...

Falendre saw an arm poking out of the pile of debris. And its hand wore a great serpent ring. So if it was an attack, it had gone horribly wrong for this marath damane. She was obviously unconscious, possibly dead. If Falendre didn’t act, this damane would die for sure. Falendre took the chance of rescuing the marath damane without first collaring her. She took off her belt with one hand and with the other, she took the damane’s arm and pulled her out of the pile. The damane took a gasping breath, but remained unconscious. Without wasting any time, Falendre ripped what was left of the damane’s shirt loose and fashioned a blindfold, then used her belt to tie the damane’s arms behind her back. At this point, the damane began to make some feeble stirrings. Falendre worked faster, taking off the damane’s belt and fastening it around the damane’s throat, just in case. Then, with one hand on each of the two belts, she waited for the damane to wake, hoping that she would submit easily and walk with her, but prepared in case the damane decided to be difficult. Hopefully, another sul’dam would have felt and heard what she did, and bring an a’dam. If not, Falendre could get one herself, dragging a recalcitrant damane along the way as she did.

Egwene woke a second time, although still in blackness, still unable to move her arms. She twitched a leg before she could catch herself.

“Good, you are awake,” a slurred voice said.

Egwene tried to beat down the dread that suddenly shot up her spine. A Seanchan. Egwene had again been captured by the Seanchan. She tried to feel the collar around her neck to once again only to find that her arms were immobilized. Not well, though. If she were alone, she’d be free in minutes. And the blackness...she was blindfolded, but could almost see around it. Not a real blindfold. There was light, although it wasn’t bright, possibly from a lantern on the wall.

“If you’re willing to walk, it will go much easier for the both of us,” the slurred voice continued. “Now, let’s stand up,” the slurred voice cajoled.

Egwene was still in shock, and so let herself be hauled to her feet. Saidar. She could still embrace Saidar. She reached for it, even though her head throbbed so much she could barely concentrate, and was relieved that she could. No a’dam was around her neck yet. But she couldn’t see. That would make weaving anything more difficult. She tried making a gateway underneath her feet to take her away from this horrible place. The wood creaked as the razor-thin cut weakened it somewhat, but it still held. The hole was there, inches below her feet, but the floor wasn’t dirt that would flow through, and she couldn’t make it more shallow without possibly cutting herself in half.

Would that not be prefferable to being a damane? As that thought flitted through her head, the choice was taken away from her. Her body, still air starved from being buried alive, was once again cut off from it. This time, from a soft leather belt around her throat, one which she did not notice until it cut off that precious air.

Panicked, she tried to fight the sul’dam. She lasted all of 20 seconds before dropping off into unconsciousness again.

Light, Falendre thought. She quickly dragged the unconscious damane off the weakened floor. She thought damane couldn’t channel when they couldn’t see, but somehow this one had, and judging by the way the floor creaked, had almost dropped them through it. Well, truth be told, she preffered it this way. As long as the damane was uncollared, she was dangerous. Falendre wasn’t afraid of a little physical labor. She dragged the damane up the hall and quickly retrieved a spare a’dam. Now she felt safe again.

Safe? After a marath damane appeared unconscious from the earth in that particular room? No, she decided. She did not feel safe. She had hoped to live a quiet life after the last battle. The light, it seemed, did not feel inclined to shine on her wishes.

When Egwene awoke again, she was more controlled. She gave no outward signs that she had woken. She also did not change her breathing. The first thing she did was check to see if she could channel. She didn’t fill herself with Saidar, just examined the possibility.

She was collared. This was bad. This was very bad. She felt the panic rise up in her. Collared, again. Chained, no longer a person, but an animal, controlled by her enemies. Better dead than help the Seanchan. She must find a way to end her life, to prevent the Seanchan from discovering the weaves that she knew. She would not be used, not by them, not by anyone! There must be a way out!

Don’t panic, she told herself. Look around, examine the options, and then act. She opened one eye and quickly looked around. Alone, one window high on the wall opposite her. The room was small enough and the leash long enough that she could look out and get her bearings. She quickly got up and looked out the window. She was in Falme. She recognized the buildings. Over the buildings, she could just make out part of the giant ribbed sails of the Seanchan vessels, but they were spaced in a way that indicated smaller vessels, hidden by the buildings, were between the larger ones.

Somehow, she would get free. If she couldn’t travel or skim, she could find one of those smaller vessels to hide in until...

The door opened. “Ah, good. You are awake,” the woman slurred. She quickly put on the bracelet, not allowing Egwene time to come up with a plan. “These marvelous new weaves have so many uses. We put a, uh, a ward on you to alert us if you moved. Very useful. You were Aes Sedai. We have a number of women who were once Aes Sedai. They have told us of the plots, intrigues, and danger inherent in being Aes Sedai. Once they have accepted that they are damane, they are much more content with this simpler life. Many believe differently than I do, but I think the Aes Sedai were very useful in the last battle. You should look on your past with pride, but accept that it is your past. You are damane, and you shall be damane. Whatever name you had before was a name of an Aes Sedai, one that fought honorably but will fight no more. You deserve a new name, a name of peace and freedom from past burdens. You will be Nixi. Nixi will be a good damane.”

Egwene was silent through this speech, knowing that interruption would only earn pain and being gagged and tied up with her own power. She was Aes Sedai, and would bear this with the calm tranquility of an Aes Sedai. She would escape captivity, or bring down the Seanchan empire itself. The battle from within worked in the white tower, it might work from here too.

With that thought, her resolve strengthened. She would not become another damane, eager to be pet and given sweets. She was captive again, yes, but hadn’t some of her greatest victories come while in captivity? She was Egwene Al’Vere, the flame of Tar Valon, the Amyrlin Seat. She had broken the mind of one of the forsaken, had defeated balefire itself. She had united a tower that had appeared to be shattered beyond hope of fixing, and beaten back a Seanchan attack almost single handedly. She had been forged by pressures no one short of the Dragon Reborn had suffered and had not been broken. Egwene stood strong.

“I am bound by the three oaths, so know this for truth. I am Aes Sedai, and I will remain Aes Sedai. I have felt this collar twice before, and once Mesaana herself held the leash. I broke her mind when she confronted me. I have held another forsaken prisoner, and had her bowing to my whim. Do not think that you can best me.”

Egwene expected a lash, or perhaps the feeling of being boiled alive. That had been a favorite of Renna’s. Neither came. The sul’dam just looked at her, studying her. “You have fought great battles. If what you say is true, the world owes you a great debt of gratitude. Believe me when I say, there is no greater gift I can give you than the peace of being a damane. Accept that peace. I fear it is the only peace you will ever know. For now, however, you will come with me. Women who were once Aes Sedai recognize each other, and one of them may confirm that you have taken the oaths. You are too young to have the face, so I must have one of them corroborate your tale. I will be your trainer from now on. I am der’sul’dam of Falme. My name is Falendre.”

With that, Falendre twitched the leash in the way that meant ‘walk beside me’ and Egwene obeyed without thinking. A moment later, both Falendre and Egwene had stopped in astonishment. Egwene because she had so quickly reverted back to her training, and Falendre because it was obvious that Nixi had the training.

“So, one part of your tale has already been proven true. You once wore the a’dam. Come, we must confirm the rest.” Falendre once more started walking with Egwene in tow. There was nothing to be gained by refusing, not yet. And Egwene needed to come up with a plan. Perhaps, just perhaps, not all sul’dam were evil. This one hadn’t punished her, and had even treated her with a modicum of respect. And she was der sul’dam? Maybe they aren’t all criminals. Theirs was a different culture, one with incredibly uncivilized customs towards channelers. Maybe they could be taught. Any teaching on her part would be almost ineffectual, no matter that the sul’dam that had claimed her was the der sul’dam. She needed...

Falendre interrupted her chain of thought by stopping at a door. “This is one of the former Aes Sedai. She was once a leader among you, and so has a better chance of recognition, I think.”

Egwene was absorbing this as Falendre opened the door, and there sat Elaida. Elaida hurriedly abased herself without even looking up. “How may this one serve?”

“Look at this woman and tell me if she has taken the three oaths,” Falendre replied.

Elaida raised her head and her eyes grew wide. “Save me! I command...I...” Elaida laid her head back on the floor and started weeping. “Please, Egwene. I will submit. I will take up the dress of the novice. I’ll do anything. Just...save me.”

Falendre stepped back and closed the door once more. “It was not the clearest answer, but it will do. I believe what you have told me. For what you have done for the world, you will be pampered--”

“I do not want pampering.”

Egwene felt a light switch on her bottom, not painful, just hard enough to know it was supposed to be a punishment. Egwene ignored it. “You should not interrupt,” Falendre admonished.

“You should know who I am and what my demands are.” There was another light switch. “I am Egwene al’Vere,” another switch, harder. “The flame of Tar Valon,” another switch. “I am the Amyrlin Seat.” The switches were coming progressively harder, but Egwene paid them no heed. “There is a task I assigned myself. I dreamed that I wouldn’t be able to accomplish it without the help of a Seanchan woman. I didn’t know the woman or the task at the time, but I know both now.” The switches stopped. Falendre was staring in wonder. Egwene had shown no response to swithes that would have drawn blood had they been real. “My task is to ensure that the Seanchan empire does not threaten the white tower. Your empress is the woman that will help me accomplish this task.”

“The Empress, may she live forever, was an accomplished sul’dam, but you would never be hers. She hand picks only the best--”

Egwene interrupted her once more. “You will be hard pressed to find one stronger than I. You will not find one with more deeds to her name, or one with a higher title. That creature you took me to, she came to power by deceit and treachery, and ruled only a third of us. I united us through skill and ruled the most women the white tower has ever seen. I possess more knowledge of weaves than any woman has since the breaking. If you believe I am property, than I am surely the most valuable gift the empress could ever receive.”

“But you will offend the Empress, may she live forever, with your recalcitrance and, and...” Falendre trailed off.

“I have met her. She seems a woman that enjoys a challenge. And I assure you: I will be that.”

Fortuona Athaem Devi Paendrag was listening to Galgan and Knotai argue about plans to retake the Seanchan capital. Even after Galgan had watched Knotai win the last battle, he still wasn’t convinced that Knotai should command the army.

A messenger came in and prostrated herself before the throne, behind which stood Darbinda and Selucia. “Falendre, Der Sul’dam to Falme, has arrived bearing a gift for the Empress, may she live forever.”

“What is this gift that the Der Sul’dam of Falme believes is worthy of the Empress?” Selucia voiced.

“Let it be known to the Empress, may she live forever, that the gift is a damane. It shames me that I know no more than that.”

“The map room is no place to meet a new damane, especially when it is filled with squabbling men. The Empress will receive the damane in the training room. Inform Falendre to meet us there and remove all others from the room.”

The messenger ran from the room to do as bidden.

“Remind me, Doomseer, why is she a messenger?” Fortuona asked. “She does her training an injustice.”

“I, uh, saw her put a switch in front of your throne. It hit you, but you got stronger and your throne got bigger. It means that she’ll give you a message that will hurt you and the empire, but you both will grow stronger for it.”

“And was this finally the message? Can I stop tolerating her lack of skill?”

“Yes,” Min said simply.


End file.
